Life's Archives
by Peliqua
Summary: NARUTO DRABBLES. May involve any of the following pairings: NejiTen NaruSaku ShikaTema GaaHina
1. NejiTen: Graduation

Post-timeskip.

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**It was midnight on the evening of her ANBU inauguration, and she was crying. 

She, along with most of her peers, had just been made a part of the elite ANBU, and given a rather classy reception, as a sort of _good-luck!_ It was a rather festive evening at the Hokage's building, and most everyone had taken the opportunity to dress up a bit. There were refreshments and people to talk to, and everyone was having a good time.

Except her, crying.

She stands alone on the balcony that hugs the side of the building, and stays silent as the small tears make their ways down her cheeks. She fiddles with the rust on the metal banister in front of her, and a breeze picks up, waving the fabric of her dress about, and she does not attempt to hold it down.

She wears a dark dress, a beautiful one- one that hangs delicately from her slender shoulders like silk curtains, but still manages to fall on her hips. The simplicity of the translucent fabric was perhaps what made it so alluring- it wasn't thin enough to see through, but still light enough to flutter in the persistent breezes that called the balcony their home. The moonlight that filters through the tree canopy makes the lines of her figure visible through her dress, and makes her tears shine with brilliance as they fall from her face. She watches the sky from behind her bangs, and she is for the moment just a pretty girl looking at stars – she wasn't a shinobi right now; shinobi didn't cry.

She is aware of his approach even before he steps onto the balcony, and aware of who it is even before he speaks. He says her name and by reflex she turns to smile at him – though her expression is dimmed by the sadness in her eyes. A quiet sadness, and a look that seemed to apologize.

He looks classy in his loose white shirt, classy and handsome, but it is nothing she hasn't seen before. She has long since come to terms with the fact that he is desirable.

He steps up to her side by the railing without a word, giving her a glance that says only that he was there. He doesn't ask about her tears, simply glancing back to her every now and then, checking on her, waiting.

Waiting for her to want to talk.

Eventually, she pushes one side of her bangs out of the way, looking up to him as the cool breezes cut through her dress. He meets her gaze, and she smiles again, slowly wiping her tears.

Her voice is small and quiet when she speaks. "It's really done, then. Team Gai..."

"We'll still do some missions together."

He says evenly, searching her with that damned gaze of his, the one she couldn't help but meet. She watches as the moon casts a shine on his pupils, watches as his irises glow, faintly luminescent in the dark.

"I never thought I'd be so sad to be entering ANBU…" she says with a quiet chuckle, her gaze falling.

"…We may all end up in the same unit," He offers. He allows his eyebrows to fall from his usual uncaring expression. He allows himself to return her look of regret.

"Hah, yea…" She sighs, forcing herself to smile. "Unless they want you to end up dead, they'd better keep me around you." She draws her arms across her midsection, trying to summon a taunting expression.

"Pardon me?" His eyebrows rise again. "You don't honestly think that I _rely _on you."

He smirks, and she smirks, and she looks back up to him. It was his way of saying that_yes_, he relied on her in battle.

"Yes. You wouldn't last a minute without me." She teases, the sadness leaving her voice.

He shrugs in reply, stepping forward with his smug look intact. He slips his arms around her waist, gently holding her to him. She rests her head on his shoulder, unable to stop herself from closing her eyes. It had been a while since he had last held her like this, free of distractions and their gossiping peers.

He hears her sighs slightly as he tightens his hold on her, pulling her closer in a delicate hug. The night around them begins to chirp quietly with crickets, the cool breezes ineffective against the shield of his arms.

"I suppose there's some truth to that." He says finally, and he pulls his head back, watching her crack open an eye. She smiles slightly as he angles her chin upward, his lips meeting hers in a short, chaste kiss."By the way, I think you're pretty."

"Shaddap." She replies with a chuckle, as she slinks her hand up to his neck.

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	2. SasuSaku: Just Maybe

**Uh... my first attempt at SasuSaku. oO; I'm more of a NaruSaku fan, but I like both pairings.**

** Er... here you go! xD**

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"Love me when I least deserve it.. that's when I need it most."

Her infatuation with Sasuke had brought her a fair share of troubles- It had begun with general coldness, escalated to offhand insults, and crowned off with him knocking her senseless and leaving Konoha.

But she still loved him.

It was an irrational love, the kind that had neither ground to stand on nor anything to pull it back up. It was the kind of love that never could be, never should be, and never would be. He was too good for her; and somehow, she was at the same time too good for him.

But she still loved him.

She loved the arch of his eyebrows when he frowned, and the way she could sometimes see him smile. When he was stalling at the back of the crowd, and his hands were in his pockets, and he really thought that nobody was looking; that was when he smiled.

He smiled when he wouldn't be caught, wouldn't be hassled, and wouldn't be anything but anonymous.  
Because that was all he had ever wanted; to be secret. 

To be hidden, and to kill _that man_, and that was all.

There was never a reason to be anything else. She had tried to give him a reason. She was there, she loved him, and she always would.  
These words did not have the desired effect. He did not come miraculously to his senses, did not give up on Itachi, and could not be something he wasn't. 

He was an avenger, so strained and so obligated a person that he could never hope to be what she wanted.

Even if…

Even if just maybe… he loved the way she smiled.


	3. NejiTen: The Bunny

_Yeeeup... practicing my NejiTen fluff... oo Not much else to say..._

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"It's not too late!" Tenten yells dramatically, one hand bunched into a tight fist and held in front of her chest. Her wide honey eyes do the shiny-thing at him. 

Neji stares in reply, his pale eyes just a little wider than normal.

"…Pardon?" He says, standing with knees slightly bent, as if preparing for attack.

"It's not too late!" She repeats, her voice full of urgency. "You can make this right again!"

He narrows his eyes slightly, his eyebrows coming closer together in an appraising look. What was she on about _now_?  
"What?" He tightens the grip of his right hand. 

Her eyes widen as he does so, and she looks down at the brown bundle he holds.

"Neji!"

"No, Tenten." He gives her his dirtiest glare, trying to improve his chances at winning their petty argument.

"Why do you insist on being this way?" She asks. "Well? Huh?"

He doesn't answer this, lips pursed as he turns to leave before she makes the decision to use her secret weapon- But it is too late, and her hand has gently entwined itself with his. When did she get so quick?

He looks back to her, silenced by the sight of a quiet plea in her eyes.

"…Neji?" She murmurs, raising her eyebrows in an expression somewhere between hurt and anger that made his stomach silently churn with guilt. She squeezes his hand softly, her thumb slowly rubbing his wrist, entreating him to listen. Damn.

Moments pass as he keeps from squeezing back, and she lets her lips fall slightly in a manipulative pout, mastered through weeks of practice.  
Shit. He was done for. 

He flicks his head dramatically to the right, the motion causing a shower of his hair to mercifully hide the blush on his face.

"…You need to get over this environtmental bullshit." He mumbles, releasing his grip on the ears of a small bunny in his right hand.  
The baby rodent falls with a squeak to the ground before shooting off into the underbrush, along with Team Gai's hopes at dinner. Tenten's eyes light up and she grins. "Thanks, Neji." She says, the pleased tone in her voice making him go rigid. She surveys him with an expression of success, and he can't help feeling played.  
"…Now what are we going to eat?" He asks lowly, intent on remaining grumpy.  
"Well… how's your fishing? There's a bog nearby." 

His eyes widen momentarily, and she laughs, latching herself onto his side.  
After a moment, he shakes his head with a smirk and snakes an arm around her waist, silently continuing their return to camp.


	4. NejiTen: Idiot

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For as long as he can remember, Neji has been called many things. He's been called a genius, a prodigy, a rival, a teammate, a student. In only a handful of years he was called Genin, Chuunin, and Jounin, and if things go his way he'll be called ANBU in a month or so. He's been called handsome, sexy, unattainable. For anyone else, this might've been enough- Anyone else might've been flattered.  
But he's too busy to be flattered, too busy wondering why it is one of his lesser titles that actually matters.

'Idiot.'

She calls him an idiot and he lets her. She's only said it to him once or twice, once when he almost died and she slapped him, and again the second time death nearly claimed him.

It is by no means a name he should wear proudly, but he does, even if he doesn't really know it.

Because if she's there to call him an idiot, it means she's still there, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

If she's there, it means he can breathe, even if he _is_ dying.


	5. NejiTen: untitled

**For once I felt like writing somethign an dposting it without wondering wether or not it sucked. So I wrote this in about 10 minutes and now Im posting it. Ive been angsting a hell of a lot lately, and am in no mood for pining over grammar or punctuation and stuff. I just drabbled like hell. Un-beta. xD; and this is what I got... **

**Ps- Omgxz NejiTen!111 **

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The epitome of fitness and a handsome face to boot,  
Kept safely behind the bars of restraint because feelings are useless and she wouldn't care anyway.  
She's driving herself like you're driving yourself, like you drive each other, and you'll never stop to smell the roses, or the tears on her cheek when you turn her away or the sweetness to her breath when she screams into your shoulder. 

Because everything is fleeting and the clock doesn't afford time for you to tarry in emotions

So you're driving each other to be the best and forget one another when really, to do so would be to have no thoughts at all.  
I guess you haven't realized yet how much you really think about it, or how this really cant be love because love never hurts this bad, right? 

_It shouldn't,_ you told her after punching that hole in the doorframe and before pushing her up against the wall and taking possession of her lips- just another part to her that will never belong to anyone but you, but never really belong to you either.  
The training session last night couldn't have gone a more misused if you tried, but you find you don't care when you wake up next to her and she feels small against your chest. Like she'd let you hold her forever.

_Fuck_, you breathe out six hours later and try to stop the blood, but it's not stopping, it's not stopping and there's nothing you can do. You're not sure if the medic nins arrived just in time or a second too late, mostly because its another ten hours before there's any word on her condition. Ten hours where your bars of restraint break so many different ways you think you yourself must be bleeding, but its not blood, it's a tear.

She had to almost die for you in order to get you going.  
But at least now that you're going, you're going good, and you're not going to stop. Three words like _those three_ can change things a whole damn lot so I suppose it's alright that you were shaking slightly when you said them. She didn't say them back. She wasn't awake yet. And when she woke up three days later and was perfectly alright she still didn't say them back and you didn't say them again- you had some training to do, right? 

That training session went misused too. But again it doesn't matter when you wake up with her lips pressed to your neck, and she feels really small against your chest.

Like she'd let you hold her forever.


	6. NaruSaku: Itadakimasu

_**Monday, August 15th, 4:23pm after far too little sleep:**_

**Just a spur of the moment NaruSak because by now I believe its canon and I guess I should jump on the bandwagon. Set _right_ before Naruto leaves for the manga timeskip. Hes treating her to ramen or something. Unbeta.**

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They sat on the high stools of the Ichiraku, he ordering his third bowl while she sat with slumped shoulders in front of her half emptied first. 

"Itadakimasu!" he said again with gusto, picking up his wooden chopsticks, preparing to dig into the miso that had just bee placed in front of him.

"Naruto?" She said quietly, looking with a confused expression to the orange-clad boy beside her. He paused mid-slurp, sucking up the rest of his noodles before turning to look at her.

"What is it? You want another bowl?" He asked, determined as always to see her happy. She shook her head and her pink locks bounced around despite the gentle motion.  
"No. Just…"

He stayed quiet, his blue eyes impossibly wide as he waited with anticipation for _whatever_ she could have to say.  
But she didn't say anything, and they were soon interrupted by the flap of the low-hanging flags behind them as a large white haired man pushed his way past.

"Ero sennin!" Exclaimed Naruto, because now it was a habit to greet him as such.  
"Yo." He replied, casting an analyzing glance between the foxy boy and the downcast girl. "We gotta go, brat." He said, and made a little motion with his huge hand before stepping backwards out of view.

Finally, she spoke.  
"Please don't forget me." She murmured, not really looking at him. And despite the simplicity of her four words, he heard the story she meant to tell.

_You better come back, I'm really sorry, don't forget your promise, I've already been forgotten once, and so please, please don't forget me._

After a moment, he smiled widely and his eyes went squinty, creating the obnoxiously happy expression he was known for.  
"I wouldn't know how, Sakura-chan!" He said, with what she thought to be surprising charm for a whiskered boy with a noodle stuck to his chin. 

She smiled.


	7. Neji: House of Cards

_Saturdar, August 27th, 1:26 am/ _

_/ neji  
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_Pain sears from his brow and through his veins like liquid fire as the green of his seal twists ever so slightly, darkening to red and somehow gaining weight, making him drop his head harshly against the throbbing, cradle his face in his hands. Shame clutches him coldly and harshly as a clear-thinking part of him reminds himself that he can't even look them in the eye- can't meet their gaze as they tighten his bonds, rework his locks.

When he's finally left alone to the sound of his own panting, he stares down at his reflection, displayed dimly on the slate tile beneath him. His burden has turned a new leaf – curled at the edges and slanted slightly, an addition that they'd wanted to try. They, who have the power and right to do this because nobody says they can't. To him, because he has the power and mind to one day ask, 'How dare they?'. For what? For safety. He's dangerous, houses of cards don't stand without the lowest pieces.

He raises himself up on his padded forearms and is grateful for the shield of hair that hides his face from view. He wipes at the corners of his eyes.

The gentle padding of her bare footsteps reaches his ears only just before she sits down beside him, to draw her arms around her knees and lean gently into his shoulder, a silent anchor to reality as the locking of his limbs subsides enough for him to clutch a hand over his forehead. He turns his back to her, walls up but defenses down, like the tears she's already crying in his stead. When she presses her cheek into his back and wraps her arms around him to clutch at the front of his jacket, he breathes a sigh that speaks of his hate and his love, and her presence.


	8. Guess

Their house was thin, and like colourful paper long bleached by the sun. Hallways stretched and bent, ushering the sounds of heavy footsteps across floorboards and through the circle of empty rooms. Wind chimes were valiant in hushing the silence, speaking through the warm summer breezes that made the house an oxymoron; always speaking.

Her father smiled, ('I've brought this; I thought you might like it.' / 'Thank you, Hiashi-sama. I do.') and was good while unaware--

that when she closed careful eyes, she saw his face as scarred, three by three with a smile that spoke of scraped knees through happiness--  
that when _he_ spoke, it was of laments to ears six feet under and deaf to his world, to the mission he missed, and blank scrolls. 

Their house was of placeholders and stand-ins.


	9. NejiTen: Communion

_suuuuu well, here we gooOooooO

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She stands, still and dim at the centre of a circle bathed in blood and moonlight- she's all about the ANBU mask on her face and that twenty inch katana thats screaming retribution. It's screaming retribution, and _what now_, what the _hell_ had she just done? The metal's singing and wavering, a testament to the stab she made just moments ago, that sent two men crumpling to the ground and her conscience reeling.  
It shouldn't be this easy. 

It should be harder, she should _feel_ something; but even in her hypersensitive state, even as with overspun nerves she feels the weight of her enemies blood on her face, she is numb.

And its times like these he finds herself thinking of _him_. She finds it somehow shameful but there is no excuse- she calms herself with memories. He does this- this murder- with ease. She should too. Morals be damned, it's her job, right? Right?

She can almost smell the blood on the breath of the corpses around her- can almost feel the body heat leaving them; before thought is shaken from her at the beckon of the earth, palpitating, a blood-swollen heart beneath her. Footsteps. 

Bite the thumb, draw the blood across the parchment- its a routine, its a mechanism now. A lifetime later, her second wave of attackers ring the bodies at her feet and with twisted faces, smile under a veiled moon to their defeat.She's severing bonds-cutting marriages short- making orphans- it's a job.

The night is wide open --(like her bloodied lips, _panting, _like the unblocked kunai to her abdomen-- like a book, she's reading it and everything it holds- the birds in the trees who've forgotten they're there, and the shuffle of feet ten yards to her left as a survivor gets up with the intention to flee;

The mission scroll in her back pocket reminds her that there _can be_ no mercy and there's a whip of iron flying and he's got one between the eyes. _Not a survivor anymore_, thinks a part of herself she's scared of.

_'We're done'_ – his voice pulls the tears from her eyes, twisted shut in confusion and an emotional overload. They'd said the first mission wouldn't be easy –

_But how many have we just killed?_

He approaches and sees her thin fingers shaking uncontrollably, and he's thankful for his long sleeves that hide his own trembling hands. There's never any blood for him – stopping hearts is easy, it's quick and never time for him to see their fear; for her its every slash and the spray – he didn't think she'd handle this much.

For the first time after watching her kill, he can not find himself excuses- she fucks with his head, her efficiency. Respect for her skill was a different animal when talent and aim didn't buy her a bloodbath past teartracks. He tries to ignore the little sob that breaks the thin silence of the night- focuses instead on his grip on her hand. It doesn't work; she pulls away like she's been burned- But at least she's stopped herself crying. He doesn't like the sound.

He looks around._ How many did she kill?_

She doesn't think twice about climbing into the piggyback he offers, resting her cheek on his shoulder and giving herself a bit of a mental shake. Her hand's clenched shakily around the loose fabric of the side of his ANBU outfit -- still pristine – hers is all about the blood and burnmarks and little cuts and dirt and sweat.

The wound in her belly stings horribly when he bandages it three hours later-- stitching a cross past her belly button, talked into her living room because the hospital is full. He's gentle, always gentle; Gentle enough to coax a bit of herself back, to chase away a bit of the confusion that comes with creating a graveyard of half a village.

When he gets up she pulls him back down to the carpeted floor fiercely, threatening, 'Don't leave me now or else.'

So he doesn't. She straddles him hard and presses her forehead hard against his chest- He places his arms in a ghosting touch around her shoulders, his chin resting on her head.

_'It shouldn't be so easy'_, she says. He answers by moving so that his back is against the couch, and grabs a blanket that's strewn on top of it to drape it over them.

_'As kids, we thought this would be fun. Remember?'_

There's really no answer to that. He remembers. He wanted to be stronger – maybe set the Main House right – maybe keep being called the prodigy. Back then anything worth having didn't require murder. She shivers and he clutches her a bit tighter, finding it doesn't matter if they're just friends or he really wants to call her his. Either way, her moments of weakness are his too.


End file.
